


It might be nice

by Autisticpunk13



Series: Autistic TMA fics [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author Projecting onto Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gen, Indian Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Martin is trans it's not just not mentioned but...he's trans, Okay the jonmartin is like... heavily implied but it's there, Pining, Stimming, Trans Martin Blackwood, author is autistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28914546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autisticpunk13/pseuds/Autisticpunk13
Summary: Finally, Martin answered. “I’m not sure, but I can go look, if you don’t mind waiting a minute.” Jon nodded, although he would rather not wait at all, if he were being honest. As Martin left, he moved a hand up to run through his hair, an old nervous stim, but recoiled upon touching it and remembering that it was soaking wet. He was further brought down by the realization that he couldn’t run his finger along the seams of his shirt either, and settled on tapping his fingers against the wall of the narrow hallway. He instantly moved his hand back to his side when he heard Martin open up the door to the back room, though. He needed to stay professional, and while stimming at work wasn’t necessarily unprofessional, he still felt nervous about stimming in front of others. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, hoping to at least dry off some part of himself.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Autistic TMA fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121237
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	It might be nice

**Author's Note:**

> I am just projecting. My worst sensory issue is wet clothes and I am having a very overwhelming day and I need to write about it. And also I just really wanted to write about autistic Jon because he is very very autistic and I see a lot of my traits and personality in him. There's no real meltdown but there's mention of it. enjoy. I will probably write more autistic Jon soon, tbh.

Jon hated rain. Okay, to be fair, he didn’t mind rain, and the noise it made against the roof of his flat was slightly comforting. It was being rained on that he hated. The oppressive, damp cold clung to everything, especially his clothes. His sweater had soaked through soon after it had started to rain, and the shirt underneath, as well as his pants and socks, quickly followed. It made his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably, and drained all remaining warmth from him. 

Thankfully, he was early, even earlier than usual, which meant that the archives would be empty, save for Martin. Still, it would be quiet. And Jon was fine with that. Quiet was just what he needed. Descending the stairs, he felt as if he was travelling to some icy tomb, as the temperature dropped as he got closer. He knew the archives themselves would likely be,,,,,tolerably cold, as the heating there was slightly better than the heating in the stairwells, but only slightly. 

Once in the archives, he could faintly hear Martin moving around in the staff lounge, likely getting breakfast or making tea or something. It was 6ish, although neither of them were supposed to come in until 7:30 today. Jon made a beeline for his office, however, and shut the door, not even bothering the morning small talk that he really only has the patience for on good days. And today was not a good day, if this morning had anything to say about it. He wondered if he had any clothes still left in the archives, after all, he had stayed the night here more times than he should have. Although, his overnight stays had decreased after the whole worm incident at Martin's flat. He could always go and check the back room, as a quick sweep of his office told him that he hadn’t left any clothes here. He decided to check, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get any decent work done like this, not with him nearing sensory overload with every second that his soaked clothes hung on him. He took off his sweater, dropped his only slightly damp bag on the floor, and headed for the back room, which wasn’t really in the back, but rather just down the end of the hall, right after the bathrooms and staff lounge. He’d just passed the bathrooms when he quite literally ran into Martin. Jon heard a cup fall and shatter, and heard Martin curse in response. 

“I’m so sorry, did it spill on you, I’m sorry, I should have looked where I was going- Jon cut him off quickly. 

“I’m fine, and I should have looked where I was going as well.” With that, he looks down at his damp button-down, “and I don’t think a tea spill would have done much to my shirt in its current state.” 

Martin nods “I’ll just,,,get the bin then, yeah?” He turns, and Jon entertains the thought of asking him if he’d seen any of his old clothes lying about. His mouth opens before he can really think about it. 

“Oh, Martin, before you go, do you know if I had any clothes left here? I’m not sure if I still have that change of clothes in the back room, and well” He gestures at his outfit, still wet but slowly drying on his body in a very uncomfortable fashion. Not to mention his hair, it would be ages before it dried properly. Martin, leaning against the doorframe of the staff lounge, tries to remember if he had seen any of Jon’s stuff. In those few seconds, though it felt like hours to Jon, he couldn’t get his mind away from that stray bit of hair that had escaped the rest and was currently hanging over Martin’s eye. A thought came out of nowhere, demanding that he go up to him and fix his hair, and Jon pushed that thought back down. They were colleagues, not friends. Not even work friends, and it would be weird if he did. 

Finally, Martin answered. “I’m not sure, but I can go look, if you don’t mind waiting a minute.” Jon nodded, although he would rather not wait at all, if he were being honest. As Martin left, he moved a hand up to run through his hair, an old nervous stim, but recoiled upon touching it and remembering that it was soaking wet. He was further brought down by the realization that he couldn’t run his finger along the seams of his shirt either, and settled on tapping his fingers against the wall of the narrow hallway. He instantly moved his hand back to his side when he heard Martin open up the door to the back room, though. He needed to stay professional, and while stimming at work wasn’t necessarily unprofessional, he still felt nervous about stimming in front of others. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, hoping to at least dry off some part of himself. 

Martin emerged, holding a pair of pants and two mismatched socks. He went to Jon, and looked as if he was going to hand them over, then reconsidered it. 

“I found a pair of pants that looked like yours, and some socks, but the only shirt I found that might have been yours was, well, a bit covered in blood. I think it might have been the one you were wearing when you were checking me for worms, and I kind of bled on you, sorry.” Jon made a noise of understanding, and took the clothes from Martin. 

“It’s alright Martin, this shirt will dry off soon enough. It’s fine.” It wouldn’t be fine though, and although he might make it through the work day without a meltdown, if he were practically lucky today, he would definitely be spending his entire evening in his room with the lights out, rocking back and forth and holding his headphones closer to his ears every time a car alarm went off or someone in the apartment yelled. 

And apparently, the not-fineness showed on his face, because Martin spoke up.

“I mean, it doesn’t really look like you’ll be fine with it and I don’t want you catching a cold or something anyways and you’re dripping all over the floor anyway, and I was going to say that I have a sweater or two you could borrow, if you’re fine with that?” Martin looked at him, and Jon averted his gaze, not risking a chance of eye contact. Again, a few seconds that dragged on for hours. 

“Well, alright I suppose. As long as it’s not some obnoxious patterned thing.” 

“Sure.” Martin chuckled softly, and Jon wasn’t quite sure why. He hadn’t really said anything funny, but he supposed it might be a rather humorous situation, maybe? Still, it didn’t really matter, and Jon waited a few seconds more for Martin to come out. 

He did, right about the same time Tim arrived. The hallway was in clear view of the front door, so Tim could see both of them. 

“Morning, boss!” Jon rolled his eyes. “Morning, Martin!” 

“Hello, Tim.” 

“Hi Tim!” Jon finally took a look at the sweater. It was a light grey one, and looked like it was cotton. It would do for a few hours, and Jon could give it back when his shirt had dried, or when he left work. Whichever one came first. He murmured a thank you to Martin, and ducked into the bathrooms behind him. 

When he left the bathroom, Martin was at his desk. Or rather at Tim’s desk, and Jon could see they were in a conversation. He could only hear bits and pieces of it as he moved back to his office, and it was likely just workplace gossip. Once in his office, though, Tim had decided to speak up, although in a sort of stage whisper, and Jon could hear him through the thin walls of his office, if he paid attention. 

“What was that about? He get on your case about not formatting your emails correctly or something idiotic like that? Jon couldn’t hear Martin’s response, but whatever it was, Tim’s first reaction was a dramatic sigh. 

“You’re too nice for your own good, Martin. He’s kind of an asshole, like, he’s my friend, but he’s an asshole sometimes. Especially to you.” He pauses, and Jon wishes he could tear himself away from this. “Remember that time he tore into you for filing that one statement wrong? It was an honest mistake, but the way he spoke to you, I’d’ve thought you’d personally set him on fire. He made you cry over a filing mistake, and you’re letting him borrow your sweater?” He tore himself away from this conversation and tried to focus on his work. 

Jon, unfortunately remembered that incident, however. It was before the worm incident, and Martin had filed a statement number 9800344 as 9800394. It was a simple mistake, but Jon had had a long week, and he was tired and frustrated and. And it still wasn’t a good reason to yell at him, at all. The news that he’d made Martin cry, well, that was just the cherry on top of this shit sundae. He decided that he would apologize for his behavior when Martin came in to bring him tea in an hour or so. He’d try to be nicer, he supposed. After all, Martin probably didn’t work well when he was getting constantly berated by Jon. After all, it wasn’t like they were close, and usually people crying didn’t make him feel bad. Even if he’d caused it, he mostly just felt remorseful, but not,,, whatever this was. He chalked it up to just wanting a good working relationship, and went to work. 

About an hour and a half later, Jon had just finished digitally recording one statement about zombies, again. He heard a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” Martin opened the door, tea in his other hand, in that mug with all the cats on it that Jon had only seen Martin use for him. 

“Tea?” 

“Yes, thank you Martin.” He took in a breath, and prepared himself. “Also, thank you again for letting me borrow your sweater, it was,,,quite nice of you.” He looks down at himself, at the sweater that, if he were to stand up, would come to his knees. “Although it is a bit...big on me, it’s a nice sweater.” Martin smiles at that, softly, and Jon can’t get over how his eyes look when he smiles. He takes the tea from Martin, and Martin turns to leave, creaking the door open. This is his best chance to apologize. 

“Martin.” Martin turns around, closing the door. 

“Yes?” Jon takes another deep breath, one hand rubbing the fabric of his- of Martin’s sweater

“I’m sorry. I realised that I have been,,,unfair and quite a bit rude to you over honest mistakes, and for that I apologize. I will try to be more patient when it comes to improperly filed statements and the like, in the future.” Jon can’t quite read Martin’s expression, but it doesn’t look bad, so he assumes he did alright. 

“You heard Tim, didn’t you? Martin sighs. 

“Well, yes, but he wasn’t wrong. I have been, as he put it, ‘kind of an asshole’, and I am sorry that I hurt you.” Martin looks a bit shocked at that, as if Jon swearing was some sort of event. Or maybe the event was Jon apologizing. He wasn’t quite sure. 

“Oh. Well, okay.” Martin stops, thinking. “I appreciate that, honestly.” Jon breathes an inward sigh of relief. 

“Good.” They stand there for a few seconds, before Jon speaks again. 

“While you’re here, how is the investigation into Paul Mackenzie’s statement? Any word from Marcus Mackenzie? 

“No word from him yet, although I was going to try again today.” Jon nods, and picks up another statement. 

“Good idea.” And with that, Martin leaves, closing the door behind him. Jon pulled out his small headphones, the ones he kept strictly for work and commuting, and plugged them into his phone. As the beginning notes of a familiar song played, Jon lost himself in the neat routine of statement organizing. He’d brought a few boxes to his office, hoping to get some semblance of order going, and besides, organizing usually helped him calm down. He let himself stim, shaking one hand while the other took statements out and sorted them. Once one box was sorted into piles, he started on the next, eventually just sitting on the floor in his office, gently rocking as the piles started to grow. He felt quite a bit better, considering how sensory overload had almost ruined his day. When lunch rolled around, he even took Martin’s invitation to eat with them in the small staff lounge. It was nice, he realized, and watching Martin’s face light up as he laughed at one of Tim’s inane jokes, and then as he laughed at Sasha’s retort, Jon realized that he wanted to be closer to his assistants, to Martin. It might be nice.


End file.
